


santa hats and angel wings

by RebelSpaceOddity



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Party, Christmas fic, Clint is so Extra, Costumes, Coulson isn’t dead, Fluff, Holidays, I just want Tony to be happy ok?, I’m soft for Tony Stark, M/M, Mistletoe, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, POV Tony Stark, Steve Rogers with angels wings, crackish, too many 'that's what he said' jokes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-27 00:16:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17151704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RebelSpaceOddity/pseuds/RebelSpaceOddity
Summary: It's Christmastime in the Avengers tower.





	santa hats and angel wings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jacksqueen16](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jacksqueen16/gifts).



> So I realized that I haven’t written fanfic in years and so I kinda wanted to make sure I could still do it. The inspiration behind this story is...my Christmas tree. 3 years ago, we were poor and had no angel for the tree, so I got some glittery cardstock and a picture of Captain America and then we had a Cap!Angel on top of our tree, quickly followed by a Santa!Tony. And here we are. 
> 
> I have no clue where this belongs in canon...maybe after Avengers (2012)? You put it where you want it. (That’s what he said…)
> 
> This was supposed to be smutty and it ended up just being cute. *shrugs*
> 
> It should also be noted that I drank a bottle of wine while writing this and it's not beta-read. So...happy Christmas?

“Sir, Miss Potts is calling.”

Tony sighs. Things haven’t been the same with Pep since their latest breakup (they’d probably never be back to what they were, his brain tells him. He’d screwed up too badly the last time.)

“Send her to voicemail.”

“But, sir--”

“Just do it or I’ll replace you with Siri.”

Jarvis doesn’t respond, but there’s a sudden electrical surge that shorts out his soldering iron and he knows the pesky AI had something to do with it. He’s left in blissful silence--well not really silence because he’s blasting Black Sabbath through the workshop--to finally make the upgrades to Hawkeye’s bow that he’d promised him weeks ago. Well, at least now it can count as a Christmas present, Tony thinks.

Oh, shit.  
  
“Jarvis, when’s Christmas?”

“Three days, sir.”

“Uh huh and when’s the Avengers Christmas party?”

“It’s not a Christmas party, sir.”

‘“Fine, holiday party.”

“Tomorrow, sir.”

Shit.

“Jarvis, pull up Amazon and get ready for a shit-ton of overnight deliveries.” He grabs a mug of coffee that’s at between six and forty hours old and settles in. “Jarvis, is it legal to order ninja stars online?”  
  
Several hours and several dozen Amazon purchases later, Tony’s practically fallen asleep in his workshop again. He’s scrolling through throw blankets for Brucie Bruce (who doesn’t like blankets?) more out of habit than any real desire to purchase. Scroll, scroll, scroll, scroll, scroll, scroll. He yawns. Scroll.  
  
“Stark?”  
  
He blinks. “Cap?” Who let Cap in?  
  
“Uh, your, uh…” Cap motions toward the ceiling. “Robot butler,” he finishes lamely.  
  
Tony grunts and continues scrolling. Who was he shopping for again? Happy? The doorman downstairs?  
  
“Um, Stark, why are you shopping for inflatable nativity scenes on Amazon?”  
  
His eyes register the web page he’s been browsing through mindlessly. “Oh.” That’s stupid because he doesn’t even have a lawn for an inflatable nativity scene, although, there’s probably room on the roof by the Quinjet’s landing pad.”  
  
“Stark, if you put a nativity scene where Hawkeye lands the jet, he’s gonna land the plane on baby Jesus.” Cap comes around in front of Tony, blocking Tony’s view of Amazon. “Jesus, Tony,” Cap swears, “When’s the last time you slept?”  
  
Tony rubs his eyes. They do feel kinda dry, but he’s had worse. He tries to swipe to the next screen of Amazon, but Cap grabs him by the wrist. “Nuh uh,” he says. “Jarvis says you’ve been awake for 41 hours. Time for sleep, Stark.”  
  
“But ‘m not tired.”  
  
Cap ignores him and tells Jarvis to save Tony’s projects and shut down the workshop. Then he turns to Tony, helps him to his feet and directs him toward the door. Apparently, Tony’s more exhausted than he knew, because as soon as he takes two steps forward, he stumbles and almost falls. (He doesn’t fall because Cap catches him.)  
  
“Careful, Tony.”  
  
It’s the gentlest admonishment that he’s ever heard from their fearless leader. Cap’s not normally nice to him, or really, anything to him. They fight well together, but they can’t work together...or be near each other...without it becoming a...what was it Nat called it? A testerone-fest. Although Clint says it’s all sexual tension, but what does Clint know about anything? So Steve and Tony kinda just ignore each other and Tony’s just fine with that. Really. Although, Cap really does have nice biceps. And triceps. And everything-ceps.  
  
Cap laughs, and oh shit, Tony’s talking out loud, isn’t he?  
  
“Yes, you are talking aloud, but it’s okay.” He pauses. “You gotta know that I like you, Tony, dontcha?”  
  
Tony must be dreaming.  
  
Cap is practically carrying him now, because Tony keeps almost-falling over. They’ve made it to the elevator without incident, but once in, Cap is hard-pressed to keep Tony from curling up in the corner and sleeping there forever. “This is my home now,” Tony says, cradling the handrail like a pillow. “I live here.”  
  
“Tony.”

He likes how Cap says his first name, the way he places emphasis on the dental consonant and the way Cap’s Brooklyn accent sneaks in with the vowel’s potential diphthong. No one else says his name quite like Steve does. He likes it when Steve says his name, although he doesn’t do it often.  
  
“Tony, we’re on your floor.”  
  
Tony shuffles out of the elevator, trips on the carpet and is saved (again) from face-planting on the floor by Captain Muscles. “You’re like a guardian angel,” he mumbles into Cap’s bicep.  
  
Cap pats Tony on the head and half-carries him to his bedroom. Tony falls, face-first, onto the bed. The bed is his home. He’s going to live there now.  
  
“You said that about the elevator.”  
  
Tony flops over. Cap is standing next to his bed, and the lights of the city reflect through the window and softly backlight Cap’s golden hair.  
  
“Bet you’d look real good on top of my Christmas tree,” Tony says. He yawns, and kicks off his shoes.  
  
“Why’s that, Tony?”  
  
“S’cause you look like an angel.” Tony flops to his side. “Angel,” he repeats. “Angel-Cap.” A blanket covers him, and Tony snuggles into it.  
  
“Go to sleep, Tony.”  
  
Tony’s passed out before Cap even makes it to the elevator.  
  
*******  
  
The bad guys haven’t been very nice to the Avengers this year. There were attacks on Halloween, Thanksgiving, and the first day of Hanukkah, which prompted Clint to create his own holiday: The Hallowed Thanksmaskkah, which was basically a huge drunken feast but everyone is required to wear costumes. Costumes chosen by Clint. And Tony’s chosen outfit was red velvet with a fake beard because, according to Clint, Tony had to be Santa because he’s got all the presents. If Tony didn’t like the archer so much, he’d have pulled the party’s funding and taken them all to Bora-Bora for the holidays instead. But instead of red velvet, he’d have packed only a bottle of coconut oil and a leopard print thong. Imagining the look on Clint’s face is enough to distract Tony from the hideousness of the Santa suit. Almost.  
  
“How’s it look?” he asks no one in particular. He knows the answer: it looks awful.  
  
“You need a padded belly,” Natasha says. “Santa needs to be big and jolly.”  
  
“I’m neither big nor jolly and I’ve worked too hard on these abs to cover them up,” replies Tony. “And don’t you think this outfit is, I don’t know, missing something? It needs some glitz and glamour.”  
  
“You’re Santa Claus, not a disco ball,” replies Natasha.  
  
Tony huffs. “At least Clint picked something nice for you. You know...something that isn’t going to drown you in cheap red velvet. Also, how did Cap get away with picking his own costume while all of us suffer through Clint’s sadism?”  
  
Natasha arches one perfectly-shaped eyebrow. “I think Steve told Clint what he wanted to wear and then Clint just found the costume for him. Same for Bruce and Thor. You and I were at that summit in D.C. when they were picking costumes, remember? So I’m a sexy Mrs. Claus. Do you know how demeaning that is? How regressive it is for someone who’s already the only woman on the team? I’m tempted to throw one of my new ninja stars at Clint’s head--thanks for those, by the way.”  
  
Tony doesn’t bother asking how Natasha knew what her present was already. He doesn’t bother asking her about a lot of things because he doesn’t want to know the answers because it might make him an accomplice to an act of international espionage or something.  
  
Natasha circles around him, surveying the Santa suit like someone picking out a new car. “Well,” she says. “We can do something with this.” She’s got a glint in her eye, and Tony isn’t sure he likes where this is headed. “Do you have a red bowtie?”  
  
The party’s in full swing by the team Mr. and Mrs. Claus appear. Natasha had decided that she wasn’t going to be the only sexy Christmas icon on the scene and had tailored the Santa pants to Santa boxers, stuck the hat and a red bowtie on Tony and called it perfect. Tony’s a good bro and just went along for the ride. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d dressed like a stripper, after all. (And, if he’s honest, it probably won’t be the last.)  
  
He can hear Thor’s booming voice by the drinks table, yelling “Chug! Chug! Chug!” He feels sorry for whatever foolish mortal decided to drink with the Asgardian. Brucie Bruce, Maria Hill, and Rhodey are laughing and dancing to Christmas carols in the corner with Agent Coulson and a bunch over other SHIELD people, and Clint...where the hell was Clint?  
  
“Up here, my dude. Whoa, that’s not the outfit I picked out for you!”  
  
Tony looks, and there’s Clint...dressed like a giant sprig of mistletoe, perched on top of a bookcase, making a rather rude hand gesture at Tony.  
  
Tony is entirely too sober for this shit, but drinking isn’t an option, not anymore (he’s 25 months sober, thank you very much), so he just rolls his eyes and says to Clint, “You break that bookshelf and you’re buying me a new one tomorrow.”  
  
Clint mock salutes and then harasses the next two people--young, newbie SHIELD agents who thought they were going to a Stark party for free booze, poor souls--who walked through the doorway. “KISS, SUCKERS,” he yells at them as he waves his arms over their heads.  
He joins Natasha at the food table. “Where’s Cap?” he asks her.  
  
She does that arched eyebrow thing that simultaneously conveys: “why are you asking me?” and “I know something you don’t know.” She motions toward the kitchen area and turns back to the food.  
  
Cap, as it turns out, is incredibly difficult to miss, because he bare-chested and has eleven-foot-tall archangel wings. And tighter-than-skin white pants that are glittery. Oh and a halo.  
  
If Tony didn’t have a heart condition before, he certainly does now.  
  
He can’t tear his eyes away from Steve--he can’t think of him as Captain America in that outfit, and oh god, he thought he had it bad for the man when he was wearing his stealth suit but that’s nothing compared to this. Someone needs to Ctrl+Alt+Delete his brain because he cannot stop looking.  
  
Then Cap stretches his arms up, and all those abdominal muscles lengthen and contract. Tony makes a strangled gurgling sound and chokes on nothing at all. Natasha pats him on the back, giving him a knowing smirk. “Suddenly I don’t feel like the most objectified person in the room,” she says.  
  
It’s at that precise moment that Clint somehow appears above their heads and yells at them to kiss. Natasha throws a knife (where the hell was she hiding that?) at Clint without even looking at him and flips him the bird.  
  
“Okay, Jesus, okay. God, I just wanted the Clauses to get it on,” Clint says. “Party poopers.” He backs away and returns to terrorizing the other guests.  
  
“I need a drink,” Tony mutters and walks away.  
  
“Be a darling and bring me eggnog!” Natasha calls after him.  
  
The drink table is thankfully unoccupied, except for Thor who has apparently designated himself bartender (which is probably why half the partygoers were drunk already). If Cap’s angel outfit is pure heavenly host sinful, then Thor’s Elf outfit is downright ridiculous. “Man of Iron!” Thor exclaims. “Have you seen this film, ‘Elf’? Clint says that my personality most resembles the titular character! I am pleased to be counted among such heroes of your winter solstice festivities!”  
  
Actually, Tony can kind of see it, because Thor does have Will Ferrell levels of excitability. And it’s proven about ten seconds later when Thor’s eyes light up and he scampers off to sing “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer” with Clint because obviously the reindeer was blessed by the All-Father.  
  
He can hear Thor corralling Jane and Darcy into caroling with him and the ridiculousness of it all is enough to bring a smile to his face. Even if it’s weird being without Pepper during the holidays, it’s not a bad-weird. He likes this strange family he’s built, and for the first time in his life, he thinks that his family likes him too. Or, at least they like his money, but hey, he’ll take what he can get.  
  
He’s searching under the table for the good rootbeer--he knows he had Jarvis order some, damn it, and he’s willing to bet that Clint has hid it from him--when he feels a feather brush against his leg. He shivers.  
  
“Tony?”  
  
What? Cap doesn’t call him Tony...ever. Ok, almost never. Like 90% of the time he’s “Ironman” or “Stark” or “Hey, you.” But rarely Tony. He crawls out from under the table. “Oh...hey Cap...nice wings.”  
  
Cap’s eyes crinkle in the corners when he smiles. Huh. He’s never been this close to notice before, but Cap’s got the eyelashes of a supermodel. No need for this dude to wear mascara, ever.  
  
“Hey Tony, whatcha drinking?”  
  
Tony still hasn’t found his rootbeer. “Damn it,” he says. “I was looking for my rootbeer.”  
  
“Oh, Natasha had me hide it outside. She said you’d know where to look for it.”  
  
“Outside?” It’s fucking cold outside, so this is apparently Mrs. Claus’ idea of a prank. But Tony really wants a drink of something to counteract the whatever-the-fuck is going on at this party, so he heads up to the roof because that’s the only outside in the whole fucking tower.  
  
He doesn’t realize Steve (wait, no he’s Cap) is following him until Steve...Cap...gets his wings stuck in the door. “Um, Tony, I’m stuck.”  
  
“That’s what he said.”  
  
Steve (CAP!) rolls his eyes. “Not the time, Tony. My wings are stuck. I can’t fit.”  
  
“That’s what he--”  
  
“Tony!”  
  
“Fine, fine,” Tony grumbles. He sees that Steve’s wings are too tall to make it through the doorway. “You need to come at it at an angle...which is not what he/she said.”  
  
“What kind of an angle?” Steve asks?  
  
Tony looks at the wings, the door, then the wings again. “I’d say give the height of the wings and the height of the door...you’d need a 44-degree angle on those wings to get through.”  
  
Steve adjusts the wings, folds himself in half, and somehow makes it through the door without any further help. “Thanks,” he says. “That was much easier than having Clint trying to get me through the door.”  
  
“Well that’s your mistake,” Tony points out. “You asked Clint for help.”  
  
Steve throws back his head and laughs, and god, Tony’s totally screwed because he wants nothing more than to hear Steve’s laugh everyday for the rest of his life. Maybe it’s the Christmas spirit or what-the-fuck-ever, but he’s realizing that he’s got feelings for Steve and holy shit, when did that happen?  
  
He shoves the feelings way down and keeps looking for his rootbeer. “Jarvis, lights on the roof, please.”  
  
These aren’t his lights.  
  
There are Christmas lights everywhere and it’s a luminescent assault on the eyes. There’s also giant sparkly snowflakes and a huge inflatable Frosty the Snowman and other Christmas crap and who the fuck did this to his roof? “Um, Jarvis, who authorized this?”  
  
“That would be Miss Potts, sir. She told Mr. Thor to, and I quote, ‘knock himself out.’ I believe that Mr. Thor is now very familiar with your Amazon Prime account.”  
  
Tony regrets ever showing Thor the internet.  
  
“I like it,” says Steve. “It’s festive.”  
  
Okay, Tony doesn’t regret showing Thor the internet.  
  
“Well, if it gets you in the Christmas spirit, I’m all for it,” Tony says. It’s true. He’s realized sometime in the past five minutes (and later, he’d realize that he’s known this all along) that he’ll do anything to make Steve happy. Because it’s Steve, now. Not Cap. Just Steve.  
  
“Speaking of Christmas spirit, I like your Santa outfit,” Steve says. He’s blushing.  
  
Tony looks down. There’s not a lot of outfit to it, not really. He’s like a Christmas Chippendale dancer. Maybe he should be asking for tips...it might help pay Thor’s bar tab. “Um, thanks,” Tony says. “Uh, it was Natasha’s idea.”  
  
“Well, it was one of her better ones.”  
  
Okay, Tony is not going to read into that, nope. He’s going to find his rootbeer, go back inside, and avoid Steve until everyone’s drunk or gone home. And yet, Tony can’t stop himself from asking, “So why an angel? Being a Winghead not enough?”  
  
Steve smiles and says, “Well, someone told me that I’d make a good tree-topper.”  
  
Tony’s brain short circuits, because he’s 99% certain he’d had a dream in which Cap had been in his bedroom with a halo and he’d told him...oh holy shit that wasn’t a dream. He’d actually told Captain America that he’d wanted to stick him on top of his Christmas tree. He needs to find Natasha and ask her to kill him because he’s too embarrassed to continue living.  
  
“Um…” is all Tony manages to say.  
  
“Listen, Tony,” Steve says, “I know we’ve not always gotten along, but, um, I like you. A lot. And, um, it’s Christmas, so maybe, I don’t know, we could--”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
Steve’s eyebrows furrow. “But I didn’t finish--”  
  
“Doesn’t matter, the answer’s yes.”  
  
This time, Steve’s smile reaches from ear-to-ear and it’s the most beautiful thing Tony’s ever seen.  
  
“Okay, then,” Steve says. He moves closer to Tony and his wings brush against Tony’s skin, and suddenly Tony remembers that it’s cold. He shivers, and Steve wraps his arms around Tony, tugging him close. “Better?” Steve asks.  
  
“Much.” He spies a sprig of mistletoe above them and, well, Tony’s come this far and if this thing with Steve doesn’t extend past tonight, he doesn’t have anything to lose. “Steve, look up.”  
  
Steve does. Then he cradles Tony’s face in his hands and gently kisses him. It doesn’t feel like just a mistletoe-kiss; it feels like Tony’s something precious to Steve. So he kisses Steve just as gently because apparently Steve is precious to Tony too.  
  
“Awww, damn it! Who put mistletoe out here? I’m supposed to be the only mistletoe.” Clint’s complaining is loud and obnoxious. It breaks the moment between Steve and Tony. Tony’s about to get the Ironman suit and throw Clint off the tower when he spies Natasha with a roll of duct tape in hand. She winks at Tony and in .25 seconds has Clint bound and gagged. “You’re welcome,” she mouths to Tony.  
  
He gives her a thumbs up.  
  
Steve, bless him, still has Tony gathered in his arms, warming him from the chilly December air. “So, if you’re Santa, does that mean I get to tell you what I want for Christmas?” he aks.  
  
Tony nods. “Let me guess...world peace?”  
  
“Yes,” Steve says, “But I’d also really like to see you naked.”  
  
Tony chokes on nothing. Again.  
  
Steve’s face turns thoughtful, as if he’s pondering some secret of the State. “Well,” he says after a minute, “Actually you can keep the Santa hat.”  
  
“I think I could love you,” Tony blurts out.  
  
Steve kisses Tony again. “Merry Christmas, Tony,” he whispers against Tony’s lips.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, I'm off to finish this last bottle of wine. Happy holidays!


End file.
